He Knew It Wouldn't Work
by Batwish
Summary: It was supposed to work. They were supposed to smile and embrace him, and then they would stop with the threats, the lies, the curfews. But they didn't understand or smile or say that it was alright. Instead they exploded and he had to run. Danny knew his parents wouldn't understand or accept his halfa status.
1. The Rejection

**AN: This could be triggering, since I wrote it after hearing multiple people talk about being kicked out of their home by their parents for being who they are.**

The night is dark and cold, the sharp artificial lights of a town adding no warmth. Tall glass office buildings tower menacingly over anyone who dares step outside. The air itself is still and stiff with anticipation, a haunting chill rising from every metal surface. Clouds tinted yellow and orange swarm high above, blocking out the sky and carrying a threat of rain.

A door is slammed open screaming and cries of pain, fear and anger fill the night, before it all goes silent. A small figure, shoulders hunched and quivering, devastated face hidden behind a curtain of black hair, stands in front of a cold dark blue doorway. From inside, only silence comes, though the boy, still a child at heart with the mind of a battle-worn warrior, knows that things are being taken apart and put back together, to what purpose he doesn't know, doesn't want to know.

He takes a step back, still reeling from what happened, then another and another, until his foot touches only air at the edge of the sidewalk and he is sent crashing down on the road. His hands scramble to find purchase on the cold concrete, blood trickles from scrapes and cuts that grains and sharp pebbles mar into his skin. A puddle to his right is stained and colored dark crimson as the dirty water invades his stinging wounds.

Light suddenly appears, bright, blinding and circular, coming closer at a rapid pace, illuminating the boy's white shirt and blue jeans, and his bright, bright blue eyes that are wide with fear because the light looks just like the white light of a laboratory, where people cut into his flesh and burn his skin. He panics, tries to back away, cuts and infects his wounded hands, but he can't escape the light as it nears and a loud horn splits the air and the car attempts to sewer to avoid the child in the middle of the street.

It can't, the puddle on the ground catches its wheels and sends it sliding right at the boy, who can't move, he is paralyzed and the vehicle slams into him full force. Yet, there's no resistance. The metal side of the car passes harmlessly through him as his form becomes transparent and blue and he squeezes his eyes shut. The driver yells in surprise and bolts out of her seat the moment the car stops moving, but the child is no longer in the street.

 _Freak_

Black hair slaps into his face as he turns the corner and runs out of the person's sight. A perfectly normal person, a natural healthy human, who should have nothing to do with him, because he's a freak and a danger, and he can't be near people. He runs into a dark alleyway, littered with trash and filth and rats scurrying around in search of food. He collapses against the furthest wall, silent sobs wracking his body as he curls in on himself. Words, harsher than the winter air and the sting of wounds, repeat themselves in his mind, for they are the only ones he is to remember, for they speak the truth of his being.

 _Ghost scum_

His eyes shut tightly as he sees a face, blurry at first but clearing. It is joined by another and both are hateful, disappointed. The woman, his mother – not anymore, he thinks as his breath hitches – shoved him at his shoulder and sent him falling out of the doorway. His father – can he call him that? he wonders as his heart lurches – stood there, impassively, not making a sound and the boy can't decide if he hated him as well or not.

 _Get out of my house!_

Tears stream down his face, leaving cold, chilling tracks on his puffy red cheeks and the freezing air bites into his exposed skin. He doesn't have a jacket, he couldn't take one. The cold doesn't bother him normally, but now, with a hole carved into his heart that was oozing everything light and good, leaving behind a barren soul, his core is pulsing with a chill he can't handle. His core – _it's unnatural_ – is acting out, he realizes; its responding to his emotional state and unknowingly freezing his human form all over again.

 _You are not my child._

He doesn't notice as his fingers and toes become numb, as his hands and feet and hair are slowly enveloped in condensed mist, becoming damp and starting to freeze to his clothes. His limbs are cold and hard to move, yet he only cries and cries because, why should he care, when everyone lied to him. They said it would be alright, that his parents would accept whatever he told them. That they were simply confused, that they wouldn't hurt him if they _knew_.

Well now they know.

His hands already stiffened when his chest starts to feel heavy and his heartbeat is rushing in his ears. When did he start to shiver? He opens his eyes and notices that his teeth are chattering and he can't feel his hands. He doesn't panic, instead he only sighs in acceptance. Somehow, he knows. He knows that the air and coming rain is too much for his scarred body and mind to handle. He looks up, bright blue eyes hope to catch sight of the night sky, the one true comfort he had in his life. But it is hidden. The orange gray canopy of storm clouds hide the stars from him and he wails at the loss. His cry, a howling shriek of the most agonizing pain, reaches every ear, but people don't react. They turn worried looks to their windows but don't get up to help. Some don't even care.

His head falls back down to his chest. Breathing is becoming hard, his rib-cage heaves with every exhale and he closes his eyes in resignation. Two more breath, one rasping cough, and his body goes silent and motionless. And the people in the town? They only continue their life and don't know – or care – of the tragedy that took place.

The dark blue door opens again, gently this time, and a woman walks out, red hair a mess and violet eyes glassy with tears. She holds a hand to her mouth, remembering what she said, what she shouted in her son's face in a moment of confusion and hurt and fear, because she was too oblivious to notice what was right in front of her. She looks both ways down the street, then shouts a name, a beautiful name of her beautiful baby boy, who was the best, kindest person out there and who was afraid to be himself with his own parents.

Glistening tears stream down her face as she is faced with the truth and she buries her head in the mass of orange fabric that comes to stand behind her, for once solemn and quiet. She is too late, she acted without thought and hurt someone so precious to her and she can never return the words she said and the things she did. Who is she to judge the bright white innocent soul that she tainted?

His name even screamed – and still screams – at her the wrongs of her words, but she was deaf to what she didn't want to hear.

Daniel, he who's judge is God himself.

 **I'm sorry for writing this, it's just so sad. Is it wrong if I made myself cry? Cuz I did, and my friend too.** **Also, I know Danny probably wouldn't freeze (how cruel can I become?), but I was just really depressed and needed to add it (kinda edited it to make it like he freezes himself from the inside, like in Urban Jungle).** **The inspiration for this was a LGBT youth exchange where I learned of people (awsome, nice, friendly people) who were rendered homeless because of being gay or trans or whatever. It just made me sad and made me think of this scenerio in DP.**


	2. Afterthought

**AN: Someone requested that this have a continuation. I wasn't planning on it, so it might not be as good or fit well, but I tried. Also, it would be appreciated if you reviewed in english, so that I don't have to use a translator to understand.**

Citizens swarm around sidewalks and shops. Shopkeepers banter back and forth with customers over the price and quality of their stock. Cars speed by in a colorful metalic blur and horns honk in a line of vehicles as they tap their watches and pray they won't be late.

A being, timeless, motionless, watches from a dark room. Red eyes flicker around the bright glowing orb in front of him, displaying a mournful scene, one that could – and will – disrupt the entire flow of time. Disaster is going to strike, the loss of one soul changing the fate of the world so drastically.

Yet the being doesn't move, doesn't act. It is not yet time. The right time will come, but is not yet. Humming in thought, the being waves a hand and the orb spins, a multitude of scenes and possibilities playing across one another before coming to a stop at a certain one.

A large brick house, adorned with a strange massive metal constuction on top of its roof, stands solemnly on the street corner, unnervingly quiet and dark to any passer-by. Neighbors whisper about it in hushed, concerned tones and the braver ones walk up to the dark blue doorway to knock and question what is wrong, only to be frightened off with harsh, grieving words.

Inside, two people wander aimlessly, staring dully at discarded wires and inventions, feeling empty holes in their chests and dark clouds in their minds. The third member of the family has left the building, not capable of sitting on the sidelines for any longer.

She marches down the street, fiery hair pulled into a messy ponytail, bags under her bright focused eyes and a steely expression on her face. Her clothes are wrinkled and sweaty from being slept in, but she doesn't care. She stops suddenly and spins to face the doorway to a large mansion, though the size or detail of the structure doesn't impress her.

She knocks sharply on the oranate door, stepping back to allow it to open. It does and a fancy figure is revealed, with a black dress suit and pants and holding himself straight and proper. He takes one look at her clothing and state before stepping back to allow her to pass with a barely concealed sneer.

She does, she knows she's a guest, if not a welcomed one, and heads to the massive stairs without a word. The butler hurmphs behind her and closes the door as she reaches the top of the staircase. Walking around two corners in the sickeningly pink hallway, she comes to another door. It is black as night, with a cracked gray skull painted at eye-level and the words 'enter if you dare' written below it.

The girl gives it no thought as she pushes through and four worried empty eyes look to her from tired faces and exhausted bodies. A boy and girl, a few years younger than the redhead are sitting a queen-sized black bed, with technology and papers spread between them.

"Jazz," the younger girl begins, though loses her voice when the older sadly shakes her head. "I know," she whispers, eyes glistening with tears. She's surpised she has any left to cry.

The three children, for that's who they are at heart, stare sorrowfully at one another, at a loss of what to do. They sit at the bed; it feels like sitting on needles instead of the expensive silk, since they're sitting there and are not out there doing something. They stay like that, lost in dark thoughts for hours, before the boy has had enough.

He slams his hands onto the bed sheets, frustrated when he doesn't get the desired loud noise. He breaths deeply as he speaks. "That's it. We can't just sit here and mope. We need to do something."

The girls look up at the decleration, dull eyes startled and unsure, before that familiar spark takes over. They have to do something, have to try at least. Their friend would have for them; Danny would never give up on them.

Still, they are silent as they mouth "but what?" to the boy and he deflates as reality slaps him in the face, hard. For all his talk, he was as lost and worried as his two companions. The girls look at each other, steely violet eyes meeting fidgeting teal ones, and the black-haired girl decides she has had enough as well.

"There's gotta be something." She says, voice forcefully strong as her heart is slowly crushed. "All detectors were useless. So he must be hiding his ecto-signiture. And that's about the only thing we have to track him by. Oh, God."

They sit in silence again as the girl buries her face in her hands, tangled black hair falling messily around her head. A shuddering sob wracks her form before she composes herself. "If only we had something that could track him across long distances or, or dimensions!" She whispers to herself in a devastated tone.

She knows Danny probably thinks he needs space, but in reality that's the last thing he needs. Especially after what happened. She doesn't have to be a psycholigist to know that.

A sudden gasp startles her as Jazz bolts to her feet and starts pacing urgently around. "Sam, that's genius!" She exclaims, a fierce light unseen since the disappearance of her brother entering her eyes and seeming to lift the black cloud of grief ever so slightly.

Voice rising, the redhead continues. "We need something that can track him even when he tries to avoid it. Like the boomerang!" She is nearly shouting at the end of her speech. She can see the gears in her companions' heads start to turn and function. "Danny told me to get rid of all of them, but I kept one hidden. It's still in the lab!"

The other two are on their feet in an instance and all go racing down the long staircase and out the front door, nearly ripping it off of its hinges. They weave through the swarm of people in the street, not holding back from elbowing their way through even as people spit and curse at them.

A strange tall house comes into view and the three skid to a stop at its doorway. They don't knock, they don't need to, it isn't necessary, Jazz lives here and they have more important tasks. They tear through a yellow-hued kitchen, paying no mind to the scattered coffee mugs and discarded half-full cans of fudge.

A sturdy metal door stands at the other side of the dinner table and the three teenagers slide around it gracefully and one of them grabs the cold knob on the silver door. It opens with ease and they nearly trip over one another as they hurry down another staircase. They pile into a gleaming room with walls covered in metal and clean tables with test tubes and various glassware.

The redhead moves forward to a seemless panel of metal on the wall and pushed on two of its corners. There's a subtle click and she pulls one side of the covering up to reveal a hidden shelf filled with papers and graphs and a strange silver and green crooked metal tube.

She grabs the unusual device and instantly starts fiddling with its settings as it starts to beep and blink with lights. A few moments of anticipation go by in silence before she heaves a sigh of relief. "It works. Should be able to track him even in Ghost Zone. Tucker?"

The male nods and gives her a thumbs up from his place behind a large computer that he hacked with his trusty PDA. A hexagonal striped yellow and black 'danger' panel slides into the wall to reveal a swirling mass of green matter.

Jazz leans back and arcs her hand behind her head, before she jerks forward and sends the boomerang in her hand flying straight at the now-opened portal. The metal object beeps, starts spinning in place, then speeds into the green screen.

It disappears just as the teenagers start to climb into a floating oval vehicle in order to follow it. They are stopped, however, when they hear a clang and the tracker bounces back into the room, deactivated.

Jazz stares in horror and starts to wail in despair, the other two only stare at their only hope in paniced disbelief, silent 'no's caught in their throats. Sam reaches a tentative hand towards it, when the surface of the portal shimmers and bends and another object passes through.

Naturally white hair, bright, bright green eyes, a lean muscular built and a soft inviting glow. A small sihluette stumbles into the room, eyes wide and movements jerky and jumpy, as though recovering from a traumatic experience. With a scream and tears of joy, the black-haired girl launches herself forward and tackles the confused figure. The dark-skinned male and redhead follow shortly after, making a dog-pile on top of the smallest boy and laughing in pure unmatched joy.

No words need to be spoken, they will figure out the details later. What matters is that their family is together and complete. They don't pay attention to how light their friend has become, how his skin seems partially intangible or made out of gas. They don't question why he has not changed back to his human form. Because, be it human, ghost or something in between, they were family to the end.

A being, stoic and expressionless watches from his tower through a bright luminescent orb. He brings his staff forward and gently clicks the top of it, letting himself be transported to the happy reunion. A unique medailon hangs on a dark blue ribbon from his hand. He reaches forward and places it on the glowing boy's neck, waiting as he blinks at the sudden weight on his neck and looks at the frozen world around him.

He gazes up and catches sight of the ancient being, smiling softly in hope and relief. In response, the being smiles ever so slightly and touches the top of his staff to the boy's head.

The world around them flashes, the memories of the last day being removed from the child's mind. The dark alleyway, the coldness of his unstable core, the argument with his parents; it all disappears, leaving behind only faint emotional imprints. After the process, they are standing in a baby blue living room, faced with the frozen worried faces of the boy's parents that await their child to tell them what is wrong.

The boy fidgets as he is brought back to the moment he reveals himself to the people he callled mother and father, his knowledge of anything afterwards being forgotten. He opens his mouth to speak, when he notices that the faces are still and recognizes the new weight around his neck. He gazes up and smiles brightly upon seeing the old guardian.

The being gives a rare tiny smile, a slight upturn of his lips, in response. He places a wrinkled hand on the boy's shoulder and says kindly. "Not yet. It's not the right time. They're not ready." The boy's expression falls a little, eyes flickering downwards and color dulling. He was so sure.

"Do not fret. They will be ready, in time."

 **I know, not the ending most people will have wanted, but this is what works for me. I just couldn't torture him all the way. Also, this is only a two-shot. There won't be any sequel or anything.**


End file.
